It was a singular fact that the two boys, usually full of talk, after
the manner of youth, did not speak until they came to the parting of
their ways. Then Harry, the more emotional of the two, and conscious
that the veil of antagonism was still between them, thrust out his hand
suddenly and said:

"Whatever happens, Dick, you and I must not quarrel over it. Let's
pledge our word here and now that, being of the same blood and having
grown up together, we will always be friends."

The color in the cheeks of the other boy deepened. A slight moisture
appeared in his eyes. He was, on the whole, more reserved than Harry,
but he, too, was stirred. He took the outstretched hand and gave it a
strong clasp.

"Always, Harry," he replied. "We don't think alike, maybe, about the
things that are coming, but you and I can't quarrel."

He released the hand quickly, because he hated any show of emotion,
and hurried down a side street to his home. Harry walked on into the
heart of the town, as he lived farther away on the other side. He soon
had plenty of evidence that the news of South Carolina's secession had
preceded him here. There had been no such stir in Pendleton since they
heard of Buena Vista, where fifty of her sons fought and half of them
fell.

Despite the snow, the streets about the central square were full of
people. Many of the men were reading newspapers. It was fifteen miles
to the nearest railroad station, and the mail had come in at noon,
bringing the first printed accounts of South Carolina's action. In this